


Cutting Words

by casey_sms (shinygreenwords), shinygreenwords



Category: The Social Network
Genre: Angst, Community:tsn_kinkmeme, Cutting, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Scars, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinygreenwords/pseuds/casey_sms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinygreenwords/pseuds/shinygreenwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He’s been made to bleed too many times now.</i></p><p>For <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/390.html?thread=1169798#t1169798">this prompt</a> at <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/"><b>tsn_kinkmeme</b></a> requesting Eduardo/Mark and self-harm.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting Words

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning/Kinks:** dark, self-harm/cutting, scars, implied child abuse, manipulative!Eduardo, non-explicit sex.  
>  So I may have written bulimic!Eduardo [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/143149) and I am writing about cutter!Mark for another prompt [here](http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/390.html?thread=283782#t283782). But I confess that originally, I had an idea Eduardo would be the cutter because he is the one that hid his arms during the whole movie. So here is cutter!Eduardo. Clearly I have issues about self-harm. Let's say I used to but I don't anymore. It's one of the things that stays with you ergo fic.

Eduardo is no stranger to blood. He’s been made to bleed too many times now whether it’s a careless backhand or the deliberate cut of a cane. He feels like he’s always felt this pain, always felt bruised. The blood is the only way to release the poisonous hurt inside him, it’s the only way he knows that he’s clean, good again. Pain is cleansing. It’s ironic that the controlled release of pain can have a pain relieving effect. The only solution to pain is more.

(He used to be afraid when he saw blood, especially his own blood, his fingertips gingerly touching a cut on the back of his leg. He became numb to it. Now, sometimes, secretly, Eduardo will admit it excites him. He wants someone to punch him in the face so he can feel, so he can taste the blood. After his father, he feels disappointed with the mundane peace in the world. No one makes him cower. No one draws blood. If they do, they do it with words. It feels dishonest. It hurts the same and the words cut into him over and over.)

He has scars all over his body. They litter ugliness on his skin. For as long as he can remember, he has always been ugly. They are most prominent when he tans, the faded white lines contrasting against his darkened skin. In the dark, it’s the unexpected raised edges that give him away, his forearms rough and his back, buttocks and down the back of his thighs are riddled with random ridges. He tries to make sure the light is always turned off. If his partners ever notice, they don’t comment even if their eyes widen in surprise. It’s an awkward thing to bring up and if it does, he distracts them with a kiss, something sexual. They forget about it. He is just one guy they had really good sex with. It’s not important.

Eduardo likes to cut deep enough to leaves scars. Hideous jagged scars. Why not? He feels almost naked where he has none. His father made sure to leave his mark on him. As a boy, he wore scars as clothing. For every slash that made him feel ashamed and worthless, Eduardo matches it with his own defiant incisions. Every cut is a ‘fuck you’. Every cut is an affirmation that he’s alive, he’s his own person. He chooses to do this.

Eduardo is glad that in the business world, long sleeves are the norm even in sweltering heat. It hides his scars. He’s found that once people see his scars, they don’t look at his face. The scars are all they can see and then he’s just damaged goods. It’s not enough to stop him from cutting himself. It makes him want to do it more. He’s damaged anyway. (Sometimes, he thinks of damaging himself as sabotage, disfiguring himself beyond recognition because he doesn’t dare let himself hope that someone will love him, scars and all). When he sees all the other men with their expensive, long sleeved shirts, he doesn’t feel so ugly. He is almost one of them, smooth suits and sharp style. He wonders who else is hiding their scars. Maybe he’s not the only one. The thought is comforting.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that it is Mark who notices and brings it up. Mark is more aware of people than most give him credit for. Most of the time, Mark just doesn’t feel the need to acknowledge the social games that people play.

“Is that blood on your sleeve?”

Eduardo borrows the “got clipped by a bike messenger” excuse from Spider-Man. It worked for him right? It’s not like the Green Goblin is masquerading as Mark’s dad, no one is going to be looking for him clinging to the ceiling of his room or something equally ridiculous. Eduardo reckons he’ll get away with it because Mark has been so absorbed in Facebook. He is wrong (perhaps he underestimated him too because Mark knew what the banner would mean to his father).

Kissing Mark does not deter him.

Mark pulls away, his brow furrowed and he starts to unbutton Eduardo’s shirt sleeve so he can see. There are rows of recent cuts amongst the bed of scars.

He doesn’t gasp. He doesn’t ask why. Mark doesn’t really understand it, but he knows. “You did this to yourself.” Mark has never had an appreciation for tact or sensitivity.

Eduardo shrugs and maybe half nods. His scars are his secret. He feels a little afraid, a lot exposed and he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Mark’s hands are gentle when they button up Eduardo’s cuff again. “You should use the stain remover,” he says, looking at Eduardo in the eye. Eduardo looks away, cheeks burning. Mark goes back to doing whatever he was doing.

(If they happen to have sex, if Mark runs his hands over Eduardo’s collection of scars and lavishes them with his attention, if Mark kisses him all over, if Eduardo shivers and comes with a sob, it’s their secret.)

And if during the deposition, Eduardo cuts more, deeper and in recklessly dangerous territory, it’s his business. He has learnt that everyone will hurt him. Without exception. Hurting himself is a pre-emptive move. He can’t possibly hurt more.

The tall Brazilian man is so lost in his thoughts that he is caught off-guard when Mark latches onto his forearm. Mark lets his hand slide onto Eduardo’s slender wrist, digging in just hard enough to reopen the cuts, his suspicions confirmed. It’s not dramatic like in movies with white blooming on red. Eduardo is wearing a black shirt (Mark wonders idly if that is why he wears black shirts, after that time with the white shirt). Mark can feel the shirt damp under the pads of his fingers.

Eduardo is silent. His eyes are dark and sunken. He looks tired.

Mark swallows when he glances down, seeing the bright red blood on his hands, looking affected for the first time since the beginning of the depositions. Eduardo’s blood. He pales. He had wanted to be wrong. He wants to unbutton the cuff and look but he’s lost the right to that. He is afraid he will see deep cuts running down his arms and he will be helpless. “Don’t,” he says in soft voice even though it’s only the two of them in the room. He grits out the words, “I’m not worth it. Don’t punish yourself for what I did.”

Eduardo flinches for a moment, his facade failing as the words hitting close to home. He yanks his hand away covering his arm with his jacket, his face twisting in an ugly sneer. His eyes flash with bitterness. “You’re right. You’re not worth it. You stabbed me in the back and left me to bleed. Don’t pretend you care now because this is what you wanted.” He leaves the room, his footsteps echoing loudly.

Mark knows Eduardo is fucking with him. He doesn’t cut just because of him, he has cut long before he even met Mark but it works all the same. Mark is the one that stabbed his best friend in the back and now he has driven Eduardo to cut. It is true: no matter what his intentions, Mark made Eduardo bleed. At least one cut on his arm is because of Mark and somehow it feels so much more unforgivable. He can never take it back. _This is what you wanted._ The words cut into Mark like blades. He feels the sting of the metaphorical wound as keenly as a physical one. It’s worse. He is a coward because he has nothing to show for it. He brings his hand up towards his face. Eduardo’s blood stains his fingertips.

>  _“Out, damned spot! out, I say!—One: two: why,  
>  then, 'tis time to do't.—Hell is murky!—Fie, my  
> lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we  
> fear who knows it, when none can call our power  
> to account?”_ – Lady Macbeth, [ _Macbeth_](http://www.shakespeare-navigators.com/macbeth/T51.html) by William Shakespeare [Act V, Scene 1, lines 35-39]

  



End file.
